Decisions
by Saoirse agus amach
Summary: There are five important decisions John Winchester had made during the process of raising his sons. Rating for mild language.


**So, I am taking a quick break from my story, The Bell Witch to write this. I started thinking about how some of the events of the Winchesters lives affected John and this fic popped into my head. **

**Reviews are some of the best friends a girl can get, so please, give me some friends. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and am not getting money for this. **

"Dean, take Sammy outside!" John Winchester handed his five year old son the infant. _I did not see that!_ "Mary! Mary! Where are ya, honey!?" John refused to believe his own eyes. There was no way he had just seen his wife burning... on the ceiling! That was impossible. But Mary was nowhere to be seen, or heard. He returned to the nursery, dodging flames and debris. Mary's body was in there, but he couldn't reach her. The crib had toppled over and created a wall of fire that kept him from her. John heard Dean scream outside and knew he needed to get down to his boys. "I'm so sorry, Mary."

Then, John Winchester made the first hard decision of his life; he left his wife in the burning house and ran out to his boys.

"Daddy, Sammy's got blood on his head!" Dean lifted the baby up to his father. Sure enough there was a large red spot covering the infant's forehead. John kneeled down and frantically ran a finger over the spot, it was not Sam's blood, there was no wound. A fire truck arrived within minutes, but there was nothing to be done to save the house. While the firemen attempted to tame the flames John simply stayed kneeled in his front yard holding Sam to him. Dean latched his arms around his father's neck and watched as his house burned with his mother inside it.

* * *

"Dean, drop the gun!" John stared open mouthed at his seven year old. They had come to this town after hearing a legend about a witch that came back every ten years to take a child in the town away. No one was really sure where "away" was, but it couldn't be any good. The story had turned out to be true. The witch would kill what she considered to be the best looking child and use the remains for a spell to keep her eternally young.

John had told Dean to stay in the motel with his little brother. This was pretty normal, John wasn't ready for Dean to join him on hunts, and Sam still needed 24/7 maintenance. What John didn't know was that the witch had set her sights on his youngest son and as soon as she saw him leave the motel room had started to work on getting Sam out. She couldn't get into the room herself due to the wards John had set down, but she was an expert at getting children to come to her. The witch stood outside the door singing in a song that only Sam could hear. The song woke the two-year old up from his nap and he had started towards the door. Dean hadn't really done anything to stop him; he didn't think Sammy entirely knew how to use a door anyway. The witch didn't need the door opened, Sam put one foot over the salt line inside the door and the witch blew the door down and grabbed the toddler before Dean could do anything.

John realized almost too late who the witch was after and went rushing back to the room. He had found Dean in the parking lot crying and yelling out obscenities usually reserved for sailors. Dean told his Dad what happened and they had rushed off to an old barn where John knew the witch had been preparing the spell.

Sometime during the fight that had ensued John was knocked out and his gun was picked up by Dean. He tried getting up but quickly realized he had a broken one leg and had a severely twisted ankle on the other."Dean, drop the gun!" John did not want his son to be a killer at the age of seven.

"Dad, she cut Sammy, she's going to kill him!" John looked up at the scene in front of Dean. He was horrified when he saw blood running down Sam's arm and the witch holding a knife to his throat.

That scene made John make the second hard decision of his life, "Dean, do you have her in sight, you're sure you won't hit Sam?"

"Yes, Dad." Dean double checked his aim.

"Then shoot."

John let his son become a killer.

* * *

By the time Sammy was nine, John had turned cold. He expected his sons to be hunters like him, he could no longer see another life for them. Sam hadn't killed anything yet; Dean was still trying to protect him from the absolute truth of their family.

The Winchesters were on a temporary hiatus while Dean healed from a bad case of bronchitis. Bobby Singer had let them stay at his house while he was out on a hunt. John was downstairs cleaning weapons when Sam came in and sat next to him.

"It's late Sam, why aren't you in bed?" John looked down at the boy next to him. He was getting tall-he had outgrown most of Dean's old clothes-, and he was smart. John would sometimes watch him and he just knew that Sam was constantly thinking, constantly learning.

"I can't sleep." Sam drew his knees up to his chest.

"Is Dean's coughing bad again? The medicine's in the kitchen if he needs more." John finished up polishing a silver knife and reached for his Ruger .45.

"No, Dean's doing a lot better, he's sleeping now."

"Are you just not tired?" John did not have Dean's way of getting information from Sam with just one look, it was a bond he somewhat envied.

"No, I'm tired, really tired." Sam leaned his head against the back of the couch to illustrate.

"Then what is it, Sam?" John inspected the gun and deemed it clean and ready to use.

"I'm afraid of the monster in my closet." Sam whispered.

"What was that?"

"I can't sleep because there's a monster in my closet." Sam looked up at John. The boy secretly hoped his father would go check the closet for him, like Dean usually did.

John then made a decision that he could not have possibly known would disturb Sam for the rest of his life.

"Here, go take care of it." John handed the .45 to Sam.

* * *

"Dad, I'm going. Sorry, but I'm not you and I'm not Dean, and this is what I want!" John looked his eighteen year old son in the eye. He couldn't believe this was happening. After eighteen years of trying the best he could to keep his boys close and safe, Sam was abandoning them.

"Boy, what do you think you're going to do? You really think you'll be happy? Stuck in some damn library only to be stuck in some damn office for the rest of your life? You really think you can leave this?" John placed a hand on the gun laying on the coffee table.

"Ya, Dad, I'll be happy. I'll be so fucking happy to finally be away from you!" Sam glared at his father. Years of being trained instead of raised started boiling his blood, and he wanted a fight.

"If you had any idea what I've done for you. Any clue of how I've protected you..." John was shaking, it took all his will power to not hit Sam. The boy had no idea of what was in his blood, didn't know how dangerous it was for him to be alone.

"Protected me! Dad, I've almost died more times than I can count! You let Mom die and you raised her kids to be soulless soldiers! You ruined our family because of your obsession!!" Sam was yelling full out now.

John couldn't control himself anymore. He punched Sam square on the chin. Sam dropped like a rock, he wasn't knocked out, but still laid on the floor for a few seconds. He stood up and looked at John.

"I'm going to Stanford. I can't take your way of life anymore. Give this to Dean for me." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope which he placed on the table. He then picked up his duffle bag from the floor and started towards the door.

"Sammy, you go out that door, I don't want to see you again. You stay away from all this shit and live your own fucking life without your family."

Sam paused briefly and stood with his hand on the doorknob. He squared his shoulders and walked out, leaving the door open.

John then made the worse decision of his life; he walked over and closed the door to his youngest son's retreating form.

* * *

_How long have I bought them?_ That was the only thought going through John's head as he laid in a hospital bed after making a deal with the demon. _I failed with those two. But I will not let Sam live without Dean, it's the least I can do. Killing myself is the least I can do. _

What John hated the most was that he and Sam were reconciling. Sam had matured, and so had John, during the Stanford years. Now they were re-forming their relationship, and the fact that John wouldn't get to see his youngest anymore made him physically sick.

A tiny, miniscule part thought that he might see Mary when it was all over. Then he realized there was no way she would be where he was heading to. Dean came into the hospital room, and John was relieved to see proof that the deal had worked.

John was never very religious. He did believe in Hell, though. So in what he knew was his last moments he prayed to the antithesis of Hell that Dean wouldn't hate him for what he was about to tell him. He prayed his sons would not have to pay for his own sins. He prayed that they would overcome all the problems he was about to leave them with. He prayed for an angel to come save them.

Dean approached the bed and John motioned for him to lean in closer.

Just before he let the fires of Hell take him, John Winchester made the last and hardest decision of his life; he told his oldest son the truth.


End file.
